


Thirty Six Point Six

by brutalism



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Light D/S overtones, M/M, Oneshot, TOS Spones Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7851559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brutalism/pseuds/brutalism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been McCoy's spine that had drawn Spock's eye first - the way it was visible at all times, in science uniform or dress robes alike. He often found himself following its gently sloping line and counting the vertebrae as a sort of meditation whenever the doctor's back was turned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirty Six Point Six

**Thirty Six Point Six**

**-**

 

 

The door parted around Spock with a faint squeak and hiss as he stepped into the physician’s quarters.

McCoy greeted him by twining his arms around Spock's neck, like a cat. Spock blinked once, peering down his nose at the other man. Not only was this immediate physicality not customary between them, but he also noted McCoy’s heart rate was elevated by an additional twelve beats per minute, and the presence of an odd sheen to his eyes.

“Are you feeling well, Doctor?”

“I need you, Spock.”

It wasn't quite a whisper. McCoy's voice was a full octave higher than usual, and laced with a rasp, probably from disuse. Unlike the captain, who often spent his rare moments off-duty filing audio logs or using subspace radio to chat with old friends, McCoy was almost preternaturally silent when left alone in his quarters.

Spock ran his fingers tentatively down McCoy's spine, and the other man shivered.

It had been McCoy's spine that had drawn Spock's eye first - the way it was visible at all times, in science uniform or dress robes alike. He often found himself following its gently sloping line and counting the vertebrae as a sort of meditation whenever the doctor's back was turned.

At first Spock believed he only did this when McCoy said something vexing and illogical, which admittedly was far too often, but he recently calculated that he noticed McCoy's back in some capacity approximately thirty six point six seven times in an average solar day, nearly four times in excess of any incident. In light of that fact, Spock had to admit to himself that the counting ritual was also for pleasure.

McCoy was what some humans might describe as “lanky” - although this kind of spareness was not uncommon on Vulcan, where the suns were hot and the sands were hotter - but with further examination, it became clear this was not the most apt descriptor. McCoy was shorter than both himself and Jim, and despite his frame’s deceptive visual thinness, was well-muscled in all areas. Lean individuals tended to be light in body hair, and this tendency McCoy had also disproved: on the first occasion the pair had disrobed in front of one another, each garment the physician discarded revealed a new swath of flesh dusted with fine, dark hair.

Spock remembered the way McCoy's body had trembled under his gaze, and how the other man fought to keep his eyes elevated during his inspection. His cock stirred.

“Spock,” McCoy said again. “I can feel that you're affected, too. Don't make me beg for it.”

When he had first taken McCoy as a lover, Spock had thought he would have to make allowances for him, not only personally, but as a species. Humans raised in the Northwestern hemisphere of Earth tended towards the especially loud and bombastic, and McCoy seemed no exception. Despite his desire, Spock had dreaded what he categorized as romantic excess - the constant kissing, holding, and declarations of love that he observed in many couplings aboard the _Enterprise_ , to say nothing of the probable emotional riot that would be reflected on him during the sex himself.

But so far, McCoy had not asked that of him - or done anything else untoward, for that matter. Their current embrace was the singular aberration across three weeks of duty and twenty five point three hours of the currently ongoing shore leave. Their previous sexual encounters had been many things, but certainly not dissatisfactory. Had McCoy remained in his quarters after Spock extracted himself for a sonic shower, he would have perhaps attempted to negotiate the terms of future... partnerships, and where things might proceed.

An image of himself - his cock aching and his hand grasping at the sheets as he recalled the latest evening spent with McCoy - filtered across his mind, but he pushed it quickly away. McCoy would never see such images unless he initiated a mind link, but it served no purpose to reflect on past behavior in the current moment.

McCoy shifted in his arms, his own erection plainly felt as he attempted to separate his torso from Spock's own and turn away. “If you're not in the mood, Spock - we never talked about - I mean, I shouldn't have assumed -”

Spock refocused on McCoy's face, seeing the uncertainty written there. The long pause was the most probable cause; even one as secretly patient and perceptive as McCoy could be thrown by it. Humans did not wait as long as Vulcans between verbal exchanges, Spock reminded himself.

He grasped McCoy’s forearm, capturing the other man in mid-twist. “It would gratify me to hear what you humans qualify as begging.”

McCoy blinked rapidly, startled. His wide eyes stared into Spock's, his face frozen in a tender space between irritation and hope as he attempted to decipher, apparently, whether he had been insulted or propositioned. In answer, Spock subtly stroked the other man's forearm with his thumb. A blush bloomed across McCoy's cheekbones.

 _Ah, how delightful,_ thought Spock. There was much he could do with this.

“Come along, Doctor,” Spock murmured, and the two found their way, without looking, to the bed.


End file.
